


A Mental Affliction

by Fictionista654



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-20
Updated: 2019-04-20
Packaged: 2020-01-20 20:11:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18532297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fictionista654/pseuds/Fictionista654
Summary: Arthur mistakes Merlin's magic for madness.





	A Mental Affliction

They rode through the purplish early-morning mist, through a forest so damp it felt like being underwater. It was cold, and Merlin had no surcoat like Arthur, something he was making excrutiatingly clear. Arthur cast an amused expresion at his manservant, who was almost lounging on his dark horse, a loose grip on the rein.

“I’m freezing my bloody arse off,” Merlin moaned. “I’m serious, Arthur. I don’t think I can make it much longer.” 

Arthur snorted. “You’re not a flower. A little frost won’t kill you.”

Merlin gawped. “Yes! A little frost _will_ kill me! It’s called _frost_ bite!” Arthur liked Merlin spluttering and indignant. True, Merlin was most beautiful in repose, the lines of his face smooth and strong, but incensed, he was adorable.

“All right, all right. Don’t get too heated, Merlin.”

“That’s the problem, you royal ass. I’m _not_ heated.” He did look cold, Arthur reflected. The points of his cheekbones and the tip of his nose glowed pink, and his ears were redder than the crest of Camelot.

They rode on in silence for the next few minutes, Arthur making sure they stayed on the bandits’ path. The idiots had galloped through the mud and spongy verdure, leaving a trail so obvious they might as well have marked their way with signposts. And then, suddenly, the trail split. Arthur pulled up short and easily lept off his horse. It appeared that the bandits had divided into two camps: one went to the east, the other to the west.

“What is it?” said Merlin, leaning forward. “Did you lose their trail?”

“The trail splits,” Arthur admitted. “I’m not sure which way their leader went. It won’t be any good without him; he’ll just round up more men and attack again.” Merlin bit his lower lip and joined Arthur on the ground. For a moment, his eyes fluttered shut, his thick black lashes curling up almost obscenely.

“East,” Merlin said. “We have to go east.” Arthur swallowed hard. Sometimes, he could forget that Merlin was different. He was bright, after all, and able to look after himself—well, probably he could look after himself. Arthur wasn’t sure how much Gaius helped.

Because Merlin was touched. Insane. Dancing with the fairies. The number of times Arthur had walked into his chambers to find Merlin playing some sort of odd game—when Merlin had been peeking under the bed, for example, seemingly oblivious to the mess all around him. Or the time he’d absconded with Morgana’s dress, in all probability for a childlike game of dress-up.

One of Merlin’s more persistent delusions was that he could track quarry with his mind. It was as good a way as any to decide which direction to take, so Arthur nodded and remounted his horse. But sadness seated itself in his bones. Merlin was so confident, so beautiful and brilliant, and so very much out of his mind. Arthur couldn’t help wondering what Merlin would be like without the fog of insanity surrounding him. Would he still be Merlin at all?

*** 

“Gaius.”

The old physician looked up from his table of draughts and papers and bowed distractedly, his mind clearly elsewhere.

“My Lord.”

“Is Merlin here?”

“He’s running errands in the lower town. I shall tell him you were looking for him.” Gaius turned back to his ministrations, but Arthur stepped into the room, shutting the door behind him.

“Is there no cure, Gaius?”

Gaius frowned. “A cure for what, My Lord?”

“Merlin’s…mental affliction.” 

“Merlin’s what?”

“You know,” said Arthur, beginning to feel irritated. Surely Gaius knew what Arthur meant? “His mental affliction. Always looking at things that aren’t there, and sneaking around my room when he thinks I’m asleep. His disappearences. I know he’s not at the tavern when you say he his.” Gaius opened and closed his mouth, and even made a few false starts on saying something. Arthur waited.

“Yes,” Gaius said finally. “I know what you are referring to.”

“And there’s no cure?”

Gaius sighed heavily. “No, Arthur. I’m afraid not. If he’s been bothering you—”

“Of course he’s been bothering me,” said Arthur. “He’s Merlin. But I’m not here for that. I just wanted to know if there were a cure, that’s all. And now I know there’s not. So I’ll be going.” He hesitated at the door. “Has Merlin always been this way, Gaius?”

“I’m afraid so,” said Gaius, his expression unreadable in the dim light. “Ever since he was born.”

*** 

The firelight scattered over Merlin’s face, illuminating it in patches. Arthur knew he should step all the way into his chambers and announce himself, but he couldn’t keep his eyes off that ridiculous boy. Merlin was sitting cross-legged before the fireplace, staring intently into the flames. Arthur wondered what he thought he saw there.

“Got you,” Merlin muttered, smashing a coal with his poker and releasing a torrent of sparks that settled on his jacket. “Oh, that’s not fair! Look, I’m not going to hurt you. See?” He tossed the poker down. “Just please, please get out of there. Arthur’s going to be so mad if you burn down his room.” He cocked his head, apparently hearing something other than the crackling fire. “I’m sorry I said you weren’t real! I take it back! Fire sprites are definitely, totally, completely real. I’m very sorry to have impugned that fact. Now please get out of the fireplace.”

O, Jesu! Merlin, in his madness, fancied himself communicating with a fairy. And how terribly, tragically earnest he was, every bit of his body tensed, and his face creased with worry. Arthur didn’t think he could take much more of this. He backed up a few steps and coughed dramatically.

“Sire!” said Merlin, jumping to his feet and standing with his back to the imaginary sprites. “I was just starting the fire. It’s cold outside tonight.”

Arthur was unable to speak through the lump in his throat. 

*** 

Years later, lying in Merlin’s arms at the end of the world, Arthur would remember that moment in his bedroom, consumed with grief for his poor manservant. He’d been right though, hadn’t he? Merlin had been mad, just not in the way Arthur thought. Mad to bring his magic into Camelot, mad to use it so flagrantly in front of Arthur. 

Arthur’s vision was dimming, his peripheral vision completely dark. He could see nothing but Merlin’s stupid, beautiful, mad face. And Arthur knew himself to be mad, too. Mad, for he was in 

 

 


End file.
